The Dementor's Mistake
by PepsiCola541
Summary: Iris is what's called a 'Half-undead'- a Dementor was only able to suck out half of her soul. How will it change her life? This story is older and is not one of my best.
1. The Strange Visitor

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, no matter how much I wish I do…(: **

One thing I never understood was why I hadn't ever been like the others. I saw things nobody else saw. I dreamed things other people could never even imagine.

And I hated it.

It seemed nobody understood. While others saw happiness all the time, I saw death. No matter where I was, who I was looking at, I saw them dying.

Maybe it was the dementors. How they sucked out part of my soul as a child. I still had part of it, of course. But I wasn't the same. It seemed I could never love.

The thing was, as they captured part of it, I captured part of them. I saw their eyes.

They were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen as a child. They seemed to be every color at once. They had depth to them I had never seen in human eyes before; light shining like the rising sun. Like they had all the happiness in the world...My happiness. I noticed they were blind, because they didn't seem to notice me looking at their eyes until a few moments later. But how could something blind be so beautiful? But as I looked into them, I saw them becoming more beautiful...and saw my eyes, reflected in their eyes, getting grayer.

One of the things I wondered about was why everybody else who talks about dementors talks about being cold and not being able to see, not being able to live, as if all the happiness in the world was drained out of them...But the dementors somehow couldn't get to me completely. They made me have a half-soul, but before then, I didn't feel coldness...I felt warmer. The dementor seemed to consider me...noticing he couldn't take much from me...until it whispered with rattling breath, "Solo is for half." And it all went black.

People who know about the dementors taking half of my soul call me half-undead. Most people say that losing your soul is worse than dying. And I say they're correct. I always feel like something's missing...I've seen death before...and it was my own...

My parents didn't want a half-undead for a daughter, so they left me after it happened. But that wasn't what was odd to me...It was the visitor that came in to see me later. A man in sweeping sky blue robes and eyes as blue as them walked in, looking over half-moon spectacles. He looked particularly concerned, his eyes clouded, his half smile faltering as he looked at me, but the blue eyes still seemed to pierce what was left of my soul.

"Hello, Iris," said the man, painting on a brighter smile beneath his long white beard. "The doctor told me about your predicament. I'm sorry for what happened to you...but you know, very few people make it out of a dementor's Kiss."

My heart leapt. "You mean, there are more people like me?" I said hopefully, sitting upright.

He smiled sadly. "You're the first to my knowledge." I sat back, looking at the floor. "But don't lose hope," the man continued. "I'm here to clear some things up. First of all, do you know the regular behavior for a dementor and its victim?" I shook my head no. "A dementor, never to anyone's knowledge, has ever talked, sung, or really done anything humanlike. They feed off of happiness. The victim, when dementors pass over them, feel horribly cold, like they'll never be happy again. Most are shaken. Now-" he tilted his glasses forward, looking at me- "I've heard you were not shaken as most, but stood right next to the dementor. Its hood went over your head, which is when I assume it performed the half-Kiss. Then, the most peculiar thing happened- as you fell, the dementor seemed to rebound, covering its eyes, scratching at them, until it let out a scream and turned to ash. Then, all the happy memories it had taken went up into the air, creating the most beautiful display I have ever seen in my life. Which, I might add, has been a long one." His eyes twinkled behind the spectacles.

I sat, confused and in awe.


	2. Two Years Ago

**A/N: According to a wonderfully nice person who actually likes this story, I guess I might not take this story off…I just don't know what to do with it! So if you have any ideas, read and review, comment and all that good stuff!(: This chapter is dedicated to JessandDarcy. **

**Disclaimer: If I actually owned Harry Potter, do ya think I would really end the suspense at only seven books? (:**

…

That was two years ago. I hadn't seen the man since. But for an eight-year old at the time, I remembered everything like it was yesterday.

He told me he was head of a school. Pigpimples? Something like that. But the most fascinating thing was…

He was a wizard. He showed me his wand and told me of Muggles and said that owls delivered mail (I still can't shake that image of an owl in a postman's clothes) and how there was a war going on, and about "the Chosen One" and how he had faith in him to win the war…

It was fascinating. Brilliant. Amazing. Awe-inspiring.

But it was a little confusing about this so called "Chosen One"- chosen for what? First to kick in dodgeball? Or first to go to a wizard school called PigPimples? It was all confusing.

I didn't really understand the term "Muggles" either. "What are Muggles?" I had asked the man.

He peered kindly at me. "Muggles are people with no magical talent, unlike us wizard folk."

"Am I a Muggle?" I asked him. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes twinkling.

"I should say not."

My eyes widened. "How do you know?" I plopped down on my stomach, waving my feet in the air.

"First of all, no Muggle can see a dementor. Especially not their eyes," He added, looking at me with admiration no one had ever given me before. "Second of all, I doubt I would have told you about the wizarding world had I overlooked that fact. You see, Muggles are not supposed to know about magic, because of the havoc it would create. Muggles would use us for our magic, wanting this and wanting that."

"But…that does mean that I'm a wizard, right?" I crossed my legs for good luck.

"Well…not necessarily. You could be a Squib. A Squib is a child of two wizards who can see what wizards see, but have no magical talent."

"I don't actually know if my parents were wizards…I guess they were, if they knew I had lost part of my soul…" I looked at the ground, screaming at myself not to cry.

"Well…have you ever done something without really meaning to, in a very dire situation?"

I thought back to when my mother had made brownies and I had been bad the night before, so I couldn't have any, but I wanted one so bad that they duplicated and flew up to me.

"Yes, I do." I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of this man.

"Then that is proof that you are a wizard." He smiled, getting out of his chair. "I must be going, I really do have to get back to Hogwarts." Oops, not Pigpimples…

"Um…okay. Will you be back?" I really did enjoy his company.

"Maybe. I hope to see you again." I saw a last twinkle in his eye as he exited the room.


End file.
